


The Gift of Distraction

by Aewin



Series: The Gift that Keeps on Giving [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alien Sex Toys, Begging, Bondage, Bucket List, Desperation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Sex Games, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:36:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aewin/pseuds/Aewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every now and then, Sollux is so pitiful that you have to wreck him for his own good.</p>
<p>In which Sollux hears voices, and Karkat drowns them out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/gifts).



> A birthday gift for the lovely [Laylah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah). Thank you for your innumerable quality contributions to the fandom <3

This is the stupidest fucking game you’ve ever seen. The clumsy little grub you’ve been piloting around is now a brown stain on the mouth of a ludicrously overpowered musclebeast, and who the hell ever saw a musclebeast in the brooding caves anyways? You shudder to think what the seadweller caves are like. Probably underwater and murky and full of undulating, overly-toothy serpentfish that can kill you with their brains or something. Blech. You’ll give this brown guy _one_ more try before you move on to something less pan-rotting.

Fifteen minutes later, you push your keyboard away and lean back in your chair, gazing at the screen in abject horror and pondering why the shitfondling _fuck_ the developers would include escort quests in a game set in the brooding caverns. Hello, developers—nobody would help someone else out in there. It’s kind of the _point_ that you do it by yourself or die trying. Incompetence everywhere, fuck.

Something warm settles around your neck and you manage to barely miss demolishing your husktop as you and your chair crash to the floor. You whirl defensively as you pull out your sickle, but it doesn’t work quite right from a sitting position. Your sickle embeds itself in the floor and you trip over it, sprawling in an ignoble, facedown heap. You close your eyes and accept your fate.

“Just kill me now. Whoever or whatever you are, I fucking deserve it after that.”

“Wow, KK, defeatist much?” It’s nasal and irritating, and the speaker mangles the sibilant to the point of near-incoherency. _Defeatitht._

Thank fucking god. Whether Sollux pities or hates you at the moment, you can usually trust him not to kill you.

“You let yourself in without being invited, and you expect me not to freak? What the everloving, bifurcated _fuck_ , Sollux?”

“Sorry.” His voice is soft and thin now, almost nonexistent. Crap. You are such an asshat sometimes.

“Just warn me next time so I don’t have a damn bloodpusher attack. What’s wrong?” You push yourself off the ground as you talk.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and slides his glasses off, rubbing at his eyes. He looks like shit. Worse shit than usual.

“Voices. They’re a lot louder than usual.” He shrugs a little bit like he’s trying to play it off as no big deal, but he’s so transparently miserable that you wouldn’t be surprised if he started leaking dismay fluid any second now.

You’re a bit cautious with your reply. Truth be told, his freaky powers scare you a bit. “Uh. What does it mean when they get louder? That’s bad, right?”

He snorts. “Something big. Usually a natural disaster, like the freak sunflares a sweep ago. I don’t hear anyone we know though, which is about the best we could hope for in a situation like this.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Right. Well, we’ll just…find something to do, then. I don’t think you’ve seen the new videogrub I got, have you? Splintered Spades Four: A Hate Story In Five Acts Wherein The Royal Members Of An Ineffectual Ashen Triad Vacillate Violently Between Clubs and Spades On The Empress’s Orders In An Attempt To Repopulate The Endangered Purple Caste And Provide Suitably-Hued Courtiers For Her Royal Highness To Demand Impossible Things Of As Is Her Noble Right As Her Imperial Condescension, But Trouble Strikes When The Three Come To The Realization That They Are In Fact An Unnatural Flushed Trio The Likes Of Which Has Never Been Seen On Screen To Date; Contains Rampant On-Screen Vacillation, Nonexistent Quadrant Shenanigans Deemed Inappropriate For Trolls Eight Sweeps Of Age And Younger, The Romantic Subjugation Of An Inferior Alien Species, A Logically Confusing Instance Wherein Twenty Subjugglators Somehow Manage To Simultaneously Swarm Out Of A Minuscule Conveyance Vehicle, And Simulations Of Drones That May Be Unsettling For Cullbait Losers Without Concupiscent Partners: The Movie?”

He only shakes his head, doesn’t even bother to say “no,” and you get the feeling that it’s going to be a long night.

As the movie plays, he scoots closer and closer to you on the plush seating platform. By the time the protagonists’ ashen relationship starts vacillating into various illicit blackrom pairings, Sollux’s head is pressed against your stomach, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his eyebrows spasming slightly from time to time. How is it even possible for someone to look this fucking pitiful? He whimpers when you softly run a thumb over the base of a horn, and that is _it_. No stupid voices are going to hold your boyfriend hostage tonight. He doesn’t even _know_ any of them, for fuck’s sake. What he needs is a distraction.

“Hey. Sollux.”

“Nngh.”

“You don’t have a headache, right? Just the voices?”

“Getting there. Not yet.”

“Then move your skinny ass, I gotta go get something.” You do your best to get up without spearing yourself on his horns or aggravating him. It’s sort of a lost cause, because the moment you get up he starts groaning, and he doesn’t stop until you’re back from the desk and holding out your hand to show him what you’ve got in mind. He slides upright, pushing his glasses back up his nose and blinking rapidly until the dice come into focus. He wiggles his eyebrows at you. You’ve really got to stop showing him romances, because he picks up all the wrong things from them.

“Ehehe, that’s a great idea. Is it your turn or mine?”

“Yours. That’s why I’m giving them to you, genius.”

He scoops up the dice, but pauses.

“Will you tie me up on top of whatever it is, or does that count as the kink?”

He’s always either hyper-aware or completely oblivious, and today it’s obviously the latter.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to distract you, bees-for-brains. I’ve got a few ideas to add to whatever you roll, and yes, that includes the ropes if you want them.”

He snorts as he begins shaking the dice between his hands. “My bees are fucking superior, KK. I am _choosing_ to believe that was a compliment.”

The dice clatter on the table, and come to rest on a three and a six. Sollux pulls the list from his sylladex, and scratches his head as he scans the paper.

“Mm, twenty-nine…thirty-two, thirty-three…thirty-six.” The grin that spreads across his face is positively indecent, but you honestly should have expected that, given the nature of the list. “It’s the thing with your symbol, KK. Hope you’re in the mood to work with your mouth. Oh wait, that’s right—you never stop working your mouth.”

You’re still debating whether to respond or not—wouldn’t it just prove his point?—when he flinches, twitching his head sharply. Time to stop talking and start distracting. You pull the rope from your sylladex with a sigh.

“On the floor, then. Remember the safeword?” (Hackproof. His idea, not yours.) It’s mostly for show. If you ever do something he doesn’t like or can’t handle, he’s more than capable of letting you know with his psionics. You really hope it doesn’t come to that though, because getting the shit shocked out of you is a hell of a buzzkill.

He _mmhmm_ s at you as he pulls his glasses off and moves to the floor, dropping his shirt nearby. For once, he doesn’t rip his shirt in his haste to get it off. He loosens up his sharp shoulder blades and stretches his arms as you unwind the rope, and then he leans forward with his arms behind his back.

It took you a while to understand his love for being restrained, since neither of you is into feelings jams. Since you got into this weird-ass relationship, you’ve learned a lot about him that nobody else knows, and you’re not sure anybody else realizes the sheer amount of power he keeps under wraps all the time. Knowing the full extent of it is scary, especially when _you’re_ the one he trusts to keep him sane by bleeding the energy off in more constructive ways, and it takes a lot of trust on your end as well because you have to believe that he won’t just go supernova on you mid-pail someday.

But you do—you trust him, no matter what quadrant you’re supposed to be in, and you tie him up because he needs it. It lets him give up that control for a while, and you can’t deny that you love seeing him bound and begging for you.

“Damn it KK. I know from firsthand experience that you know how to do this, so fucking _do_ it.” The needy whine in his voice goes straight to your nook. You run through the steps in your head as you tie his wrists together behind him, hoping you remembered them all. Wrap from the middle, twist, and—uh. Tighten it here…?

“Tighter.”

“Hold your hoofbeasts, I’m getting there.”

You frown at the rope for a second. Crap, that’s right, you have to wrap it around the other side before you tighten it. You finish it off with a knot so it’ll hold, and step back to peruse your work. This position does beautiful things to his shoulder blades.

“Is that good enough, fucknub?”

He strains against the rope. "Yeah." 

Good. Now you can grab your new toy. You must be a fucking seer or something because now is the _perfect_ time to use this one. It’s still in its needlessly resilient packaging, so you have to undertake the standard round of aggressive scissor usage to get it out. Seriously, who thought this shit was a good idea?

“KK, please tell me those sounds are not indicative of what you will be doing to me because if that is the case, I highly suggest you turn right the fuck back around and leave whatever the fuck that is far from my junk and out of your lust-addled fantasies.”

Of course, you’re victorious right after he says that, so you stomp back over and shove it in his face.

“As you can clearly see, this object is in no way, shape, or fucking form able to make those sounds. Do you really have a problem with this being near your junk, or may I finally initiate happy fun sex times for the tragically undistracted Captor?”

He looks away, his forehead wrinkling up again.

“Sorry.”

“Fuck that, we are not playing the ‘sorry’ game right now. Kneel.” He obeys, and you take a steadying breath as you move behind him. His back is still criss-crossed with raised claw welts from last time, but the shallow, anticipatory way he’s breathing tells you he won’t mind some new ones. You trace a finger lightly downward between those gorgeous shoulder blades and between his wrists, and he shudders almost imperceptibly. When you get to the curve of his back, you dig your nails in hard and very slowly drag upwards. He hisses at first, but that morphs to a gasp and then into an eager whimper as his back bends into a tense arch.

Fuck yes, this is going to be easier than you thought. He’s beautifully receptive tonight. You shouldn’t have _any_ trouble keeping him distracted.

The knot in the rope makes a wonderful handhold, so you yank it back firmly and sink your teeth into the back of his neck. A rippling shiver spreads through him and he keens, tilting his head to offer you easier access for more.

So you stop. The entire point of this is to drag it out, denying what he wants until he’s so overcome with need that the voices can’t overwhelm his desperation. He twists and tugs at the ropes, breathing more heavily, and you flick him on the back of the neck as you move back to his front.

“Quit that, unless you want me to pinch the shit out of you when I put this thing on.”

He groans. “What the hell is that thing, anyways?”

“A literal bulgeblocker.” Neither of you is unsheathed yet, and it will be way easier to get it on him before his bulge gets out and blocks it. Huh. That’s sort of ironic.

He eyes you warily as you sink to your knees and indicate that he should lean back against the plush seating platform to give you easier access. He lifts his hips to help you get his pants off, and as much as you love seeing his nook flushed dark-gold and glistening with arousal, that’s not what you’re down here for just yet. Instead, you rub around his sheath until it opens up a bit, and _oh god you’re actually fucking doing this, aren’t you?_ Your thumb slips easily inside, and Sollux bucks up into your hand as your face heats up with embarrassment.

“Fucking—hold still, nookfondler, I can’t do this with you squirming like that.” And he _is_ squirming; the tips of his bulge are pressing against your thumb. You eye the toy, trying to figure out how best to do this. It’s simple—a bigger ring, notched and adjustable, and a slightly smaller solid circle to be used as a plug—and you know how to use it in theory, but it’s a bit more intimidating when his junk is insistently demanding to be let out. You tease a bit of his sheath out around your thumb, and it makes him whimper. You give him what you hope is a stern look, and he takes a deep breath to calm himself.

Here goes. You slide your thumb out of the sheath and quickly replace it with the plug. His bulge tips don’t quite manage to make it out, but you still have to press pretty hard to keep it inside while your other hand brings up the adjustable ring and snaps it on outside the bit of sheath you teased out.

These things are usually used for black relationships—one smug bastard pins the other down and puts a bulgeblocker on, then keeps him pinned and drives him to orgasm without touching his bulge—but Sollux really needs a distraction tonight, and this thing will help draw the encounter out a bit. Not to mention you’re black for each other half the time anyways, even if tonight is some bizarre mix of flushed and pale.

“Fuck, KK. This is gonna kill me.”

You smile at him, baring your teeth, and tentatively let go of the toy. His bulge pushes it forward a bit, then it locks into place, the two pieces fitting snugly together and preventing further unsheathing. It looks _really_ weird, but that’s fine with you because holy shit, the look on his face is hilarious, some sort of twisted combination of _want_ and _need_ and _oh god why me?_ This is gonna be so much fucking fun.

He lets out a pleased sigh when you press your lips to his, and your own bulge begins to unsheathe as you breathe him in. As much as you love outright pailing him, it’s these little moments of intimacy that remind you why you put up with his scrawny, whiny ass. You scrape your nails down his back again, quicker this time but just as deep. He tenses against you with a choked-off little _ah_ of pleasure, and your bulge finally twists out entirely and presses against him through your pants. You grind it against him, and his tongue pauses against yours as he moans into you again. Fuck, he’s hot. Your clothes need to go. Now.

You push him away to take your shirt off. As soon as your skin is exposed he’s nuzzled against it and licking you in long, raspy stripes that make your nook twitch and you zone out for a moment, lost and floating in the blissful haze of sensation overload. So yeah, maybe it’s understandable if your pants come off ungracefully fast after that, because _nobody_ could resist the lure of Sollux’s tongue. Since you got together with him, you’ve had an odd sort of fetish for it, because it’s uniquely _him_. You’ve never heard of another tongue like that, forked and rough, but it’s amazingly versatile and effective as a weapon of mass arousal. It’s not fair how good he is with his mouth, but you’re certainly not going to balk at taking advantage of it.

It takes a few light slaps to get him off of you long enough to stand up and guide your bulge to his lips, but you don’t even have to say anything before he’s opening that magnificent fucking mouth and surrounding you with the wet heat that makes your knees weak every time you do this. He smolders up at you through half-shut eyes, and when the fuck did that even become a thing that actually happened outside of your shitty novels? You have to shut your eyes and brace yourself against the furniture after that, because if you keep looking at him you’re going to blow your load way too early.

He’s really into this tonight, holy fuck, already wrapping his stupidly sexy tongue around you and pulling you in until the tip of your bulge makes him gag. But does that stop him? Of course not, Sollux always has to prove himself at whatever he does, and in this case that apparently means completely blocking off his airflow by using his psionics to grab your ass and push you deeper into his mouth. Something in your gut does that weird, queasy lurch that means you’re officially too fucking turned on for your own good, and you start bucking into his mouth without making a conscious decision on the matter.

That only lasts a moment, because as amazing as he is, he does need air at some point, and you chance another look at him when he pulls off of you. His mouth is hanging slightly open as he pants, and the forked tips of his tongue are rested on his lower lip. It’s fucking adorable until he catches his breath a bit and drags them over your bulge, nestling the tip right in between them. His eyes catch yours and the little shit grins at you as he does it again, and _fuck_ , that is enough of that for now, weren’t you supposed to be doing something else?

You step out of reach, batting him away when he follows your bulge with his mouth. His face is smeared with red, and his tongue keeps darting out to lick it off. It’s obscene as all hell and you _love it._

“My fucking god, Sollux. A little desperate, are we?” He doesn’t need to know how much that word applies to _you_ at the moment, so you drop to your knees and push him against the seating platform. You can feel it when his arms hit the edge, preventing you from really getting him in pailing position unless you have him actually sit on the thing, which is way too easy for him. He needs to be more occupied than that, so you only nip him once on the neck before turning him around and bending him over. He spreads his legs for you without being commanded, and you grin. You’ve got him trained so well.

You pin him against the cushions with one hand on his back, and he groans as you slip into his nook. He’s sopping wet inside, and you can feel the angry squirm of his bulge through the sheath, pressing against you in pulses as it coils. The added pressure as you twist yourself further in makes you want it rough and hard, rather than the drawn-out, teasing display you had planned.

The next time you thrust in, it’s a sharp, quick jab, and the third time you bury yourself in him you stay, flexing as forcefully as you can until he breathes out an “ _Ohhh, KK_ ,” that gets muffled by the cushions. His nook throbs around you, and you swear you can feel his pulse in its walls. The next time you squirm against him it’s unintentionally violent; he’s just got you that worked up—and fuck, _how the hell are you this close already?_ He clenches against you in waves, and it feels just like it does when he comes. He even pushes his ass back against your hips.

_“Please_ , KK, oh fuck—”

You growl at him. “Please what, you ungrateful nookstain?”

“Nnh, ah—please, fuck, please let me come, please, I’m _there_ —” There’s a whiny edge to his voice, and you’re relived that he’s given you an excuse to back off for a bit, because you’re pretty much _there_ too.

Your body doesn’t quite agree, because it doesn’t care that you’re trying to drag this out for him, and it practically fights you as you pull out of him. It doesn’t help that he stretches out as far back as he can in desperation, trying to keep you inside. Once you’ve readjusted your balance, you smack his ass with the hand you had on his back. He sobs as you grab the rope and position him on his side. You smack the seating platform.

“Quit whining and get your leg up here, c’mon.” He complies quickly, but hell if you’re giving him what he wants until you cool down a bit. Instead, you trace your claws lightly over the insides of his thighs and the curve of his ass, and you can see how hard he’s trying not to beg. Fuck, he’s hot like this. He actually _does_ beg a bit more when you lay beside him with your head near his nook.

“Yes, just— _fuck, do it,_ and give me your bulge—ah, yes, _closer_ —” He’s a pathetic, desperate wreck, but he’s _your_ pathetic, desperate wreck, and somehow that manages to make the undignified pleading hot as fuck.

You shiver when he takes you into his mouth. He’s ridiculously eager. His neck is going to get sore from leaning forward like that if you don’t do something, so you scoot a bit closer and thrust into him before settling your head between his thighs. Crap, he’s so fucking wet at both ends right now. You’re probably going to drown in his juices down here.

Eh. There are worse ways to go.

You lean in and run your tongue lightly along his seedflap, and he goes ballistic, quivering and keening and clenching at the very tip of your tongue. His moans resonate around your bulge, and you instinctively react by burying yourself deeper inside of him. Instead of choking or waving you off, he wraps his tongue around as much of you as he can manage, and you gasp into him as it coils around you and tightens. Holy fucking shit, why did _he_ get graced with the awesome mutations?

You wrap your arms around him as well as you can—and hey, if your hands end up groping his choice ass, it’s merely coincidence—and slip your own tongue past his seedflap, probing deeper until your face is bumping up against his blocked sheath. He tastes different every time, and you’re not sure if you do too or if it’s just a weird mutation of his, but today he tastes like honey and pretzels, mouth-watering and salty-sweet in your mouth. He moans and ripples around you, and you fuck him steadily with your tongue, making sure to lavish extra attention on the underside of his sheath. There’s an insistent pressure squirming inside of it, pushing firmly and trying to find a way out. This toy was an amazing investment.

Sollux switches tactics and pulls completely off of you, then licks deeply into your nook and trails a stripe all the way from there to the tip of your bulge. He swallows you almost entirely, and oh _fuck_ , this is new and he’s an evil fucking genius sometimes, the little _shit_. He pops off and dives back down to do it again, and you shudder. You make a desperate attempt of your own to distract him, nibbling lightly on his seedflap. He growls with you still in his mouth and _oh, oh shit, fuck._

“Fuck, Sollux, _move_ —”

He releases you just as you come, and your bulge snakes its way onto his cheek as you close your eyes to stop the world from spinning around you. You open them again when you hear an odd smacking noise. The fucker’s face is covered with your material, and he’s licking and sucking it off as it drips toward the floor.

“You’re sick, Sollux.” And fucking hot as hell, but you probably shouldn’t encourage this sort of thing even _if_ the sight almost sends you into a second orgasm.

He grins and runs his tongue over his teeth and lips.

“So?”

God, he’s so fucking infuriating sometimes. Fucking _fine._ He wants to come? You’ll let him. You sit up and grab his legs, twisting him so that he’s laying on his back—well, more like his arms, you really hope he’ll say something if this is hurting him (hurting him more than he _wants_ anyways, he is so fucking weird about that sometimes)—and pull him in close. His legs wrap around your shoulders and he uses the grip to scoot a bit closer to you, still smirking like the sex-crazed maniac he is. You move forward just a bit more, and tongue lightly at his sheath. He hisses and presses against you urgently.

“A—ah, fuck—”

This is almost too easy. You tongue his nook just once and then replace it with fingers, twisting in deep and angling for his shame globes. The first thrust doesn’t quite make it, but you brush up against them the second time and _stay_ there, massaging between them with firm little flicks of your fingertips. When you stop and pull back a bit, stroking under his sheath again, he starts babbling. He’s a fucking _mess_ , supporting himself on his shoulders and tossing his head around so violently that the stray material on his face shakes off in tiny red droplets.

“God fucking yes, _please_ , ngh, Ka—KK, I _can’t_ , just—ah, _FUCK_ —” He shrieks in frustration and nearly bites through his lip, and _fuck_ , you didn’t want him to hurt himself, that’s pretty much the opposite of what you were trying to accomplish here. It’s time to put an end to this before he _breaks_ something. You untwist the screw on the bulgeblocker and pop it off as you give a final curl of fingers inside of him, and he utterly fucking _loses_ it—he sparks with psionics from head to toe and empties himself with a hoarse, cut-off sob of relief as his bulge tips spring out from his abused sheath. The slanting position was maybe a bad idea—he's covered with goopy yellow genetic material, and it gushes down his heaving stomach and drips to the floor as he whimpers and slumps down from his tense arch. His legs finally drop from where he had them dug into your shoulders.

Holy crap. You _ruined_ him. He’s covered in sweat and two kinds of material, and he's practically purring underneath the exhausted panting. You crawl over him and manage to find a spot under an ear where he’s not saturated, and kiss it lightly, trying to bring him back down to Alternia.

“Hey,” you say softly, lips brushing his ear. “You okay down there?”

“Nn. You’re an ass, KK.” He sighs and squirms against you. What the hell were you expecting, gratitude from this douche?

He offers no resistance whatsoever as you flip him over, just flops like a wet noodle and makes a dreamy sort of noise as you pull at the knotted rope to undo it. His shoulders look tense, so you rub your thumbs over them, and his breathing gradually lengthens as you switch to his palms. You don’t stop until he’s jelly underneath you, and when you turn him back over he’s got a tiny smile on his face. If the universe let him be happy all the time he’d go around _killing people with sheer cuteness_ , fuck.

You wander off to the kitchen, accepting the risk of him crawling off and committing accidental genocide via precious, fangy grin, and fill a cup with cool water. When you get back to Sollux, he’s still just sort of grinning derpily in a puddle of cold genetic material. Crap. If anything broke here, it was _him_ , by the looks of it.

You have to flick his arm a few times before he sort of snaps out of it and sits up to take the glass, but once he’s downed a few gulps he rejoins the land of the living and slings a bony arm around you for a hug. It’s always sort of awkward when he gets all touchy-feely like this post-pail, but you go along with it because he’s _yours,_ and you don’t want him to forget it. You hug him back, maybe a little tighter than completely necessary, and stay there until you notice a tiny snore against your shoulder. Oh, _fuck_ no.

“Sollux. _Sollux_ , get the hell up, you’re cold and sticky and a complete disaster.”

He moans in protest—and he doesn’t really quit whining as you toss him into the ablution trap and scrub him off—but he _does_ fall asleep without mentioning the voices again.

Mission: Successful. It's time for some fucking sleep.


End file.
